


oh but we shall all perish

by drow



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:20:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drow/pseuds/drow
Summary: Arthur asks, “What will you do when all this is over?”





	oh but we shall all perish

 

“Hosea, old friend,” he hears Dutch’s voice early in the morning. Most days, he wouldn’t care, would even try to go back to sleep—Dutch’s abnormally loud voice has become something he’s grown used to over the years. But his usual, merry, booming voice is. Well. _More_ different, would be the thing to say, he reckons. The whole thing up on the mountains changed him a little; his eyes are a lot clearer but also not, at the same time. His usual calmness changing day by day. “What a fine mornin’.”

A pause. Hosea must’ve noticed it, too. “Dutch,” the man simply says.

A pause, but it lingers a bit more. Arthur holds his breath.

“Hosea,” Dutch says but in a lot quieter. Arthur strains his damn ears to try to hear.

“The world’s changing, Dutch.”

Silence.

“But I’m here,” Hosea continues. “Whatever happens, I’ll. . . well. You know.”

“I know,” Dutch says and. That’s that.

Arthur doesn’t know what to make of it. He doesn’t even write it down. It feels too private, even for his own journal.

He goes back to sleep.

 

…

 

 _Charles,_ Arthur’s traitorous mind shouts in his damn mind when he sees the familiar mare trotting her way out of the woods. He can’t even control his face muscles when he sees him, he discovers, and really. What a scary thing to discover.

The second Charles’ off his horse Arthur has the infuriating urge to touch him, and the fact that a feeling such as that is becoming familiar is. Well, he doesn’t know how to describe such a thing but, to hell with it, he thinks. It’s kind of amazing, though, knowing that he _can_ touch him, in the privacy they create themselves, during the hunting trips that become something much more.

Charles sees him, of course, when he makes his way to camp. Most of the people are asleep and even though their little stop is as crowded as it can be, it feels like there’s just both of them, secluded and hidden in the woods.

“You’re up late,” Charles greets him with a soft smile.

“Yeah, well,” Arthur greets him back with a rare one of his own. “I was waitin’ for you.”

“Oh?” Charles’ eyes turn mischievous and Arthur _feels_ his damn ears turning red. “You know; I was thinking of puttin’ my new arrows to use.”

“A huntin’ trip? At this ungodly hour?”

“Or maybe fishing? I don’t know.” Charles takes a step forward in a sudden and touches his waist, a fleeting touch that lasts barely a second but it’s enough to set Arthur’s whole body on fire. “I just know I need to touch you.”

“Well,” Arthur thinks of big hands on his body and black, silky hair beneath his fingertips and, “Damn it. Lead the way, Mr. Smith.”

Charles laughs quietly, his eyes crinkling around the corners, and it might just be the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his whole damn life. “As you wish, Mr. Morgan.”

They ride in silence—and Arthur is grateful for that, is actually _used_ to that, which makes riding trips beautiful with Charles. Arthur loves silence, probably because the world’s beauty shines only when there’s no noise of men and alike.

He feels so serene in this moment; so serene that he has an overwhelming urge to get his journal out and write and draw and—

“Arthur,” Charles says softly. “We’ll go right, off the tracks. Not long now.”

They both dismount but they don’t jump each other like they usually do when they’re secluded like this. Instead, Charles steps closer to him, close enough that Arthur feels like he can finally breathe, away from the _everything_ that is in camp and just, simply safe. “What’s on your mind?” Charles asks.

“Nothin’,” Arthur replies. “It’s beautiful out here.”

“Sure is,” Charles says in return but looks as if he’s waiting patiently for more.

There _is_ more but Arthur can’t name anything specific. It’s like the world’s suddenly too big and he’s realizing this only now.

So, he says, “It’s nothin’,” and then, “ _C’mere_ , I missed you.”

They kiss but it’s different, somehow. Arthur wraps his arms around Charles, pulling him in until there’s no place of him that doesn’t touch the other man. He wraps one hand around Charles’ hair and simply keeps it there, feeling the softness around his fingers and moaning, touching, feeling—

“Arthur,” Charles gasps into his mouth. A hand cups his backside and Arthur leans into it, wanting everything Charles is willing to give him. He licks into his mouth, his hands on the other man’s cheeks now, stroking.

“Arthur,” Charles says again, his name coming out muffled and Arthur takes a step back, tries to catch his breath.

“Something’s wrong,” Charles says. He’s painting, and his hair’s a big mess. It’s a damn good look on him.

“No,” Arthur frowns, his hands already itching to touch. “I told you I. . . I just missed you.”

“Arthur,” Charles says again, softer, like it’s enough to make him spill or, whatever the hell he’s thinking. “You fool, don’t act like I don’t know you.”

Irritated now, Arthur says, “I’m fine,” and tries to step back in but Charles stops him with a look. “What the hell do you want?”

“I ain’t doin’ this with your mind elsewhere,” Charles says and he sounds like a. . . like a housewife or something and the thought is ridiculous enough for him to not being able to hide his snort. “What.”

“ _Nothin’_ , I swear, nothin’,” he says, still trying to reel his laughter back in. “I’m fine. Let me kiss you, come on.”

They kiss again but Charles isn’t into it, Arthur isn’t into it, and it doesn’t work.

Arthur sighs, “Let’s go back then.”

“I’m sorry if I ruined this,” Charles says, _the goddamned fool._ “I just care ‘bout you, Arthur.”

Arthur kisses the corner of his mouth and rests his head in the crook of his neck, breathing in. “Me too,” he murmurs. A part of him hopes the other man doesn’t hear him. He says, quieter, “You’re _everythin’_.”

 

…

 

One frightening dream wakes him up early again, probably around 4 a.m. That’s also when he hears Dutch, again, talking with Hosea. He wonders if this is something they do, now, wake up before everyone else and just. . . talk.

“You know, you never really made good coffee.”

“I’m afraid your ‘standards’ for good coffee don’t really apply to livin’ beings, Dutch.”

They banter like that for quite some time—enough that it makes him smile and ready himself to go back to sleep but Dutch’s voice rises in a sudden, making him jolt and sit up.

“. . . and it’s _me?_ It’s always me, with you, ain’t it Hosea. Always _me_ , but never. . . never _them_ —”

“Dutch, will you please calm do—”

“Oh but I _am_ calm, old friend, as calm as I—”

Arthur doesn’t know what makes him stand up and get out of his tent, he knows Dutch will never hurt Hosea and knows Hosea will never hurt Dutch, but he’s _tired._

“Arthur,” Dutch calls him before Arthur can actually _see_. “Arthur, you’re up early.”

“Dutch—” Hosea starts but the other man cuts him off.

“Oh but I should probably get back,” he says. Arthur’s sight is still a bit blurry but he knows Dutch doesn’t normally look like that, tired or not. Behind him, he sees Miss O’Shea peeking behind the curtains. “Goodnight, or mornin’, to all of you.”

“Go back to sleep,” Hosea says after a few moments of tense silence. Arthur knows not to argue with him when the look on his face is harder than what he’s used to.

He goes back to his tent.

Sleep doesn’t come to him. He simply lays there and thinks about how hard it’ll be to leave all this behind, for all of them.

 

…

 

“Arthur,” Charles greets him when he returns from Valentine, a grin slowly forming on his face. “Pearson says we’re short on food.”

“Well, then,” Arthur says. Then, “What the hell are we waitin’ for?”

It’s a bit more different with Charles now; with his hard, squeezing touches that makes Arthur gasp and beg for more. Charles doesn’t let go of him, not until Arthur’s back is on a tree and Charles’ mouth is on his neck in an instant, sucking, licking, making Arthur sing all kinds of pretty nothings.

“I want you,” Arthur moans. “ _Jesus_ , I want you—”

“You have me, Arthur,” Charles says. Charles, with his mouth on his neck. Charles, with his leg between his thighs, pushing up until Arthur can only moan, try to rock back and forth and chase the sensation of the beautiful pressure on his groin.

After, when they’re trying their best to look like they’ve actually been hunting, Arthur asks, “What will you do when all this is over?”

Charles doesn’t reply but his movements stop.

“I mean—all this bein’ us outlaws. You. . . you know it’s comin’ to an end, right—”

“Whatever you want, Arthur,” Charles replies, and goes back to grooming his hair.

“Whatever I want,” Arthur replies to himself. _Huh_.

“Is that what you’ve been thinkin’ of these past few weeks?”

“No.”

“Alright.”

He remembers Hosea coming to him after the little spat between him and Dutch. He remembers him saying, “He’s slippin’, Arthur,” and thinks, it’ll not be long, now. And instead of dread, something else lights up inside him. Something to look forward to, he thinks, but scary all the same.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!!


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